Raging Fire
by UpackYourHeart
Summary: When the world is ending and you're surrounded by the undead, surrounded by Death itself, a part of you withers inside, that flame of hope seems to extinguish. However, not for Charlotte, not when she soon realizes that a man of a different world, is more like her than first perceived. That ember turns to a raging fire to survive, not only for herself, but for him as well.
1. Prologue

**Hello, all~ This is my first story and obviously, it is a Walking Dead story. It will be a Daryl Dixon and OC romance, so if you don't like, you don't have to read. The story takes place from the first season and onward; this chapter being the prologue of the story. The title is based off the Phillip Phillips song "Raging Fire". I hope you all enjoy and if you do, please don't hesitate to give me some feedback. Thank you. **

**Disclaimer:****I do not own the Walking Dead or its characters, comic book and television series. All I claim ownership of is my OCs and some plot points.  
**

**Warnings: This is a Daryl Dixon and OC romance. The story contains cursing, gore, references to drugs and alcohol, violence, sexual content, and etc.**

* * *

**RAGING FIRE**

**Prologue:**

"Lets go on a road trip!"

As clichéd as it sounded, for Charlotte Ainsley, that was how it all began.

Things had been quite stressful for Charlotte up until that point and having always been the in tune sister that she was, Sarah Ainsley-Crawford wanted to help ease her older sibling's mind. Not to mention, she could read a calendar, seeing that a certain anniversary was soon-to-be rearing its ugly head. Thus, Sarah's eager and random—random by Charlotte's standards—suggestion of taking a road trip.

Charlotte, the eldest sister, yet the shorter and younger looking, stared at the definition of a blonde bombshell before her, across the kitchen island, almost incredulously. "What? A road trip? Are we in college?"

"Oh, c'mon, Charlie! Don't be so stingy!" Sarah exclaimed with a roll of her hazel-hues. "It'll be great. We can go to Atlanta. Jordan's been wantin' to visit his parents. Its summer, so I don't have classes to teach, he's on leave, and you pretty much make your own hours, so why not? It'll be awesome!"

Charlotte was still uncertain. A distraction was quite tempting, but honestly, taking time off from work was the least of her worries, though missing chances of making money didn't particularly sit well with her either. Either way, it was the current shift in the world that unnerved her. Not a literal shift, but a metaphorical shift.

The magnitude of the potential end of the world wasn't quite as severe back then. Frankly, the changes of that threat then were not even being taken seriously. Not that that wasn't understandable, for who in their right mind would believe that the dead would reanimate and attack the living? Such was laughable for they lived in the real world, reality, and not some in B-rated horror movie. However, reported cases of aforementioned attacks on the news were increasing weekly and Charlotte could not help the nauseating dread that welled within her. Going out for a road trip during such a unpredictable time did not sit well with the young woman. Not to mention, sitting in a car for more than a couple hours was not the least bit welcomed in her mind.

"…I don't know," Charlotte said finally, hesitantly.

"C'mon, Charlie! You hardly ever go out unless it's for work. You can't just sit around and do nothin' all summer. Don't be so boring." groaned Sarah, exasperation becoming evident in her voice.

Charlotte wanted to protest, but Sarah had always known how to manipulate the older, knew what to say to coax her into doing things, especially to go out. And though, Charlotte was always apprehensive, she wound up giving in and never wound up regretting the decision; she'd always have a new and interesting experience to talk about it in the end thanks to Sarah. As well, how could she regret seeing such a joyous smile upon Sarah's face when she finally complied?

That was how Charlotte found herself in the back of Jordan's Ford Wrangler truck laughing as Sarah sang loudly and purposely bad to the blaring music from the speakers thanks to Sarah's iPod just to annoy—lovingly—Jordan; bless him for he had the patience of a saint when it came to his wife. Beside Charlotte, was Jordan's husky/German shepherd mix, Dean, who was wagging happily.

They were about an hour away from the city of Atlanta and had been driving, almost nonstop, for thirteen hours, the three taking shifts. Everyone was tired and hot, fueled by candy, fast food, water, coffee, Red Bull, and laughs; they were in great spirits and Charlotte was proud of herself for conceding.

That was until they spotted a car at the side of the road, blood apparent on the windshield, a limp arm hanging out a side widow.

Charlotte had been one to generally follow her instincts, "follow her heart", sort of speak. That didn't mean she always voiced her feelings for she knew, even to her, that sometimes they were illogical, especially to her sister.

It was one of those times where she had regretted not speaking up.

She should've voiced that Jordan shouldn't have gotten out to check out the occupants of the car, but, at the time, she felt he knew better and helping people was part of his duty; his instincts were better.

It all happened so that Charlotte felt like she had just barely blinked before Jordan's screams echoed throughout the woods, blood erupting from his arm followed by Sarah's shrieks, her life's essence staining the gravel of the road soon after. Dean was barking up something fierce while Charlotte remained glued, mortified, to her seat, nails digging into the cushions.

Before long, right before her widened and bloodshot eyes, her sister and brother-in-law joined the ranks of walking dead, attacking the car that Charlotte was sure was going to be her tomb; that thought being hers for the second time in her life.

"Lets go on a road trip!"

Those words still haunted Charlotte, echoing in her brain at night, plaguing her just as Sarah's smile did; that smile would soon form into hungry jaws wanting to tear at her flesh.


	2. Chapter One: Bittersweet Memory

**All right, so little feedback on the prologue, but that's okay; slow starts are okay. Thanks to the one person who followed this story, though; thank you very much. It was very much appreciated. As said before this is a Daryl Dixon and OC romance story; don't like, don't read. It will take place from season one and on. Hope you enjoy this next part; if you do, please leave feedback.**

**Disclaimer: ****I do not own the Walking Dead or its character, comics and television series; all I own is my OCs and certain plot points.**

**Warnings:****Daryl and OC romance, cursing, alcohol and drug references, torture, death, violence, gore, sexual content, and subjects of abuse.**

* * *

**RAGING FIRE  
**

**Chapter One: Bittersweet Reunion**

Brain piercing screams.

The barking of a dog.

A sea of blood.

Moans and groans that were stomach-wrenching.

Unbearable heat that seemed even more so in a locked and close-windowed car, making it near impossible to breathe.

Those were the images, the sounds, the smells that abruptly awaken the redheaded woman, covered in a cold sweat, tears streaming down her face, heart pounding against her ribcage and thundering in her ears. Her chest heaved with the heavy pants that escaped her chapped lips. Frantically, as if a skittish animal cornered, eyes of oceanic blue/green danced about wetly.

She was still in Jordan's truck, yet not trapped in the backseat with Walkers surrounding it; she was in the enclosed bed of it, made it out to be a makeshift bed filled with blankets and pillows, the noises of life, of a campsite flittering in her ears. She was surrounded by life, not the undead.

It had just been a nightmare…

...No, a _memory_.

She was alive, though, more or less.

Charlotte sighed deeply, body trembling, as her head started to steadily clear. She raked a hand through her fiery, disheveled ringlets before throwing her hair up into a messy bun. Then, once she felt somewhat ready to rise and start the day, she patted the spot next to her.

"C'mon, Dean. Time to get up, baby boy."

However, the spot was empty, cool as if the occupant had been absent for a while. Dean was gone, having left hairs of brown, black, and some grey in his wake.

The initial worry washed over Charlotte before she realized it was a new day and today was hunting day.

Annoyance replaced the worry quickly.

"Dammit, Dixon," she cursed, pursing her lips thinly.

Well, there was nothing she could do now; she'd chew him out later when he returned for the umpteenth time for taking her dog right from under her nose to go hunting. Daryl Dixon always brought Dean back in one piece, the two somehow had become two peas in a pod against Charlotte's wishes, but there were always risks, especially those days.

Either way, throwing on her tank top and Bermuda shorts, Charlotte hopped out of the bed of the car, the door having been absentmindedly left open by Daryl—the idiot. Her bare feet touched the ground briefly to be soon covered by ruddy, old sneakers. With that and a glance to the skies to meet the unrelenting Georgia sun and promising rain clouds, Charlotte started to make her way through the camp, where almost twenty some odd survivors like herself resided, living in vehicles and tents, people of different ages, genders, and races.

It was still fairly early in the morning, so some were still sleeping, but most were already starting on their designated chores.

The camp was small and full of people with various opinions and backgrounds, but everyone desired to survive in a Walker-free zone—a difficult deed indeed considering they were practically everywhere—so when the camp was formed, everyone, more or less, banded together. People were given designated chores and tasks to keep the group alive and create some normality in the near apocalyptic world.

Today, as mentioned before, was hunting day and since some of the group had went on a expedition the prior day to the city to see what they could scrounge up, the camp was short-handed, so some people, like Charlotte, had to pull double duty. Charlotte had to help out a strong-willed brunette mother named Lori and a young, lovely blonde college student named Amy pick berries and mushrooms; she immediately sought them out.

They weren't hard to find considering the area near a vast quarry; Charlotte found the two women setting up one of the cooking stations for breakfast that day with Lori's young son, Carl assisting.

"Mornin'." Charlotte greeted softly after repressing a yawn.

"Good mornin', Charlie." rang the three in return, their Southern accents echoing in her ears.

"How'd you sleep?" inquired Lori, though from taking one glance at the redhead, she already knew the answer.

See, Lori Grimes, alongside Carl and their family friend, Shane Walsh, had been the ones, who had saved Charlotte and she had been with them ever since, even when the city, the so-called sanctuary, had been overrun and bombed. That being, though Lori did not now what they contained or her story, she knew the other woman suffered from nightmares almost nightly. Last night, if Charlotte's clammy face and deep, dark bags were any indication, had been one of those nights.

"Like a baby," Charlotte lied easily, as Lori predicted.

Amy had been fooled, though. "Must've 'cuz Daryl took Dean earlier and you didn't even stir." the young woman pointed out. "Totally rude. Did he even ask?"

Charlotte scoffed, hands planted on her hips. "Does he ever?" she retorted, dryly.

"You really should talk to him 'bout that. Or he and Merle will keep takin' him." Lori claimed.

"I could yell at 'em 'til I'm blue in the face and it won't change a damn thing. Goes in one ear and out the other. Fricken rednecks." Then, with a deep sigh, she shrugged. "Anyway," She started speaking in a calmer tone. "Speakin' of Merle, has he and the others returned yet?"

Most likely, they had not come back since the city was a bit ways away, the city was large, and gathering supplies, if there were any left, took time; their suspected time of return was before night fell that day. Nonetheless, it didn't hurt to ask. Or it did because the moment Charlotte asked, Amy's usually bright and youthful face fell into that of despair and sadness.

Her older sister, Andrea was one of those who had gone; she had been weary the second Andrea departed.

"No… They're not back…" Amy murmured, hanging her head.

Charlotte and Lori exchanged glances and, quickly thinking, Charlotte slung an arm over Amy's shoulders while saying as cheerfully as possible, "How 'bout I tell ya 'bout the time I met Andrew Garfield?"

"You met Andrew Garfield?" Amy brightened, if not just slightly, as Charlotte led her to the woods to start working.

Sometimes, it was better not to think too much or the pain, the worry, the sorrow would start eating you alive; Charlotte knew that better than anyone.

* * *

Commotion, usually, Charlotte had discovered was not a good sign and commotion was what she and Lori had to after their shift of foraging for dinner. Alas, for once, the ruckus they had been welcomed by was not bad. In fact, it was the opposite, even despite the obnoxious noise of a red Ferrari's car alarm going off, resounding throughout the hills.

As it turned out, the group, who had been gone for far longer than expected, causing everyone to fret, had finally returned. Not only that, a man, who all had thought to be dead according to Lori, Carl, and Shane, had returned along with the others, alive and well. Thus, not only had Andrea, Glenn (a young and gentle Korean boy, who was quick on his feet), T-Dog (a bulky African-American man with a quick wit), Morales (a Hispanic family man), and Jacqui (a resourceful African-American woman) returned, but so had Lori's husband, Rick (another police officer like Shane, same troop, with dark, curly hair and bright blue eyes filled with filled with a rare emotion those days: hope).

It seemed like a moment to celebrate, even if Merle Dixon, Daryl's older brother, had not come back with the rest. So, that's what everyone did as night started to fall and potential rain threatened to do so as well.

The group snuggled up to their loved ones as all sat around campfires to listen to the heart-jerking stories, especially that of Rick's, latched onto every word.

He had been in a coma before the apocalypse fell, before the dead started to rise, as he had been shot on duty. Then, when he had come to, the police sheriff awoke to a nightmare, the hospital swarmed with Walkers. Eventually, after much struggling, struggling with Walkers and the fact that the world had gone to Hell in a hand basket, he wound up in the city with the others. The obstacles just seemed to pile on to of each other, one after the other, thanks to the undead. And it seemed, resulting in his absence, that Merle had also been a problem, causing Rick to handcuff him to a metal pipe, which was where they had left him after trying to escape.

Mixed feelings swept across the camp, mostly concerning how Daryl was going to react when he returned from his hunting trip. Actually, everyone knew how he'd react and that was what worried everyone.

And Charlotte was the first person to verbally point it out.

"Daryl's gonna be mad pissed and that's takin' it lightly," she said bluntly, sitting the furthest from the fire for while it was cool, the night air, to everyone, it was still warm out to her; she wasn't still used to New York temperatures.

"What were we supposed to do, Charlie?" rebuked Andrea, an older and sterner version of Amy. "He was out of control."

Rick chimed in, agreeing, "He was goin' to get us all killed."

Charlotte held up a hand, the manicure and sky blue nail polish long since chipped and ruined. "I didn't say that what ya did wasn't called for, 'cuz Merle is the definition of an asshole, I'm just sayin' that Daryl will furious that you all left 'im to be Walker chow."

The frowns around the fire deepened, the guilt becoming more evident; Charlotte wasn't going to feel guilty for saying the truth, whether she was gracious, which she was, that her friends had returned or not. An angry Daryl Dixon was an aggressive Daryl Dixon and that would certainly cause a damper on everyone's reunion, to say the least.

"That's da thing, tho, Red," T-Dog suddenly piped up, drawing everyone's attention to him. The bald male sighed deeply. "I had just 'nuff time to padlock da door."

Clearly, that was news even to those who had been with him at the time.

"So, Merle could still be alive," Dale, an elderly, former shoe salesman, who was far more in tune with others than he was given credit for, breathed out.

"Its possible."

"Daryl will still be pissed." Glenn countered, miserably.

More hard truth. Nonetheless, there was nothing anyone could do or say further on the matter until tomorrow when Daryl came back; whether Merle was alive or not, the youngest Dixon was going to be anything, but pleased at the fact that the elder had been left behind. Family was family, after all. End of story.

With the rain falling heavier and Dean gone from her side, Charlotte found that sleep did not come easy. Not that she tried particularly hard considering she wasn't eager to relive another night of nightmares. Thus, she decided to make herself useful.

Throwing a hoodie on, a dark navy men's one, baggy on her, pulling her hood over over her head, tucking her curls away, Charlotte made her way to Dale's RV, sneakered feet sloshing in puddles. Someone was already on guard, but it was the same person who had been on guard since the entire camp retired; Shane Walsh was lounging in a lawn chair upon the vehicle's roof with an umbrella above him, keeping his head dry, and a shotgun laid across his lap. His body was incredibly tense and not with "Walker-watch" tension; he was staring quite intently at the Grimes' tent.

Such tension caused Charlotte to pause; it was a tension that she felt familiar with. However, the redhead brushed such off because it was Shane; he could be reserved and stern man, but he was also a good man, a good man who not only saved her, but everyone else as well.

"Ya look beat, dude," Charlotte piped up, scrambling up the rest of the way. "Why donchya lemme take over?"

Shane jumped nearly out of her skin and turned to her with expression of like a deer caught in headlights. It disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, though. She quirked an eyebrow.

He grunted, glaring ahead again. "I'm fine. Get back to bed, Charlie."

Now, emotions, deciphering them and the like, were part of the woman's occupation and instantly, she knew the dark-featured man was lying. Thinking back on it, he hadn't been fine since the others had returned with Rick in tow.

Charlotte wanted to put it up to shock that his best friend was alive, but there had been more than that, which she was now noticing. He seemed distant, dejected, and bitter. It was odd. Perhaps he was just grumpy from lack of sleep; he always took the longest watch shifts, always pushing himself to make the inhabitants of the camp was taken care of, that the rules were followed, and etc.

That being. She made her offer again, "Why donchya sleep? I can take over if ya want."

"I said I'm _fine_, Charlie," Shane swiftly barked, turning to her darkly, almost causing her to flinch back. "_Go back to bed._"

Charlotte felt like continuing to insist would make the police officer turn more sour; even the thought made her stomach churn for some reason. She had to retreat. So, grumbling, eying him warily, she turned away.

Why did she feel like Daryl was going to be the least of their problems?

* * *

Since all was calm and fairly quiet the following morning, Charlotte felt that it was safe to say that Daryl had yet to return. That meant that people were going to proceed with that day's chores before all Hell broke loose.

Today, for the women mostly, was laundry day. Though, for Charlotte, her first task of the day was to help Jacqui watch the children while breakfast was made and clothes that needed to be cleaned were gathered. So, after bidding a good morning to a few albeit sleepily, she joined the other woman by the usual opening, on the very outskirts of camp, where the children could play safely.

She played with them, playing tag and hide-and-go-seek (limited space versions), but, for the most part, she idly chatted with Jacqui while making random doodles in a notebook.

"Were you an artist the, dear? Before all this?' the older female inquired from beside Charlotte; both adults were perched upon a log.

"Hmmm?" The redhead perked, quirking a slender brow.

Jacqui jerked her head towards Charlotte's nearly filled notebook with an expectant smile.

"Oh!" the smaller female exclaimed with realization before managing a tiny laugh with a shake of her head. "No, no. I mean, yeah, I was a starvin' artist, but I was a different starvin' artist; I was an actress. Mostly background work, but work was work, right?"

"Mmm, well, that sounds exciting. Bet ya miss it."

"To be honest, I haven't really thought 'bout it."

So much had happened, so many other thoughts and feelings, that Charlotte hadn't even thought about her former job. Thinking about it now, she did in fact miss it. She missed the excitement, even if she was doing a simple thing like making crosses in front of the camera; the meeting of new, interesting people with the same passion; getting paid to do what she loved and had loved doing since childhood, even if the pay was small; the prospect of working in the Big Apple. And that just made her miss home all that more. It made her miss home and her family, but all of it was gone now.

Everything was gone.

And soon, so would be the peace of the camp, which started with a child's scream.

It always seemed to start with a scream…


	3. Chapter Two: No Man Gets Left Behind

**Feedback, please~ I don't want to end this story before its even begun. Thank you to the people, who has given this story a chance; hope that continues. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: ****I do not own the Walking Dead nor its characters, television or comics; all I own is my OCs and some plot points. **

**Warnings: Daryl and OC romance, swearing, drug and alcohol references, sexual content, gore, violence, types of abuse, horror, and etc.**

* * *

**RAGING FIRE**

**Chapter Two: No Man Gets Left Behind**

The horrified screams of children, the screams of Carl, Sophia, and Morales' children rebounded through the woods, causing Charlotte and Jacqui to shoot up, hearts lurching, and race towards their screams only to stop short at sight before them.

A Walker.

Its smell of rotting flesh and pieces of its body chewed and falling off was strong evidence of that.

It was chomping down with disgusting hunger on a fallen deer, shredding open its belly savagely, ripping out its innards; its blood was smeared everywhere, pooling onto the dirt ground. The Walker was distracted, but that didn't make the cold hard truth of it being on campgrounds all that less devastating, especially for the children, who came running to Jacqui and Charlotte, crying for their mothers.

Their mothers did come, but only a certain distance. It was the men who came rushing to take care of the monstrosity. Together they attacked frantically until it finally fell impaled.

Everyone stared.

With paths and whimpers being all that was heard and emitted, all were rendered silent as realization dawned on them.

The camp had been finally stained by the undead.

For so long, all had hoped that their safe haven would remain as such, untouched by Biters. They had been fools to think that they were, that the area near the quarry was some sort of sanctuary. Such foolish thinking and they all known, deep down, but they had also wanted to believe in hope.

Hope didn't exist.

Soon, barking was heard, drawing close, snapping everyone from their dark thoughts. The barks were followed by the rustling of bushes, which caused all to become more on edge than they were already. Thankfully, depending on one's view, Daryl emerged from the woodworks and not another Walker. Dean was trotting alongside him, tongue hanging out and tail wagging; that tail just wagged harder when the canine spotted Charlotte. Naturally, the female welcome the dirty dog with opened arms, said dog licking her face, yet all eyes were on the even dirtier Daryl Dixon.

He barely noticed the group as his own blue peepers were focused on the ground on deer with quite the disgruntled look. "Dammit," the redneck huffed, accent thick and husky, adjusting his crossbow over his shoulders. "Been trackin' it fer miles, thought I'd make us sum venison. Goddammit. Lookit," With a near growl, he turned to the mutilated Walker by his failed hunt and started kicking out his frustrations against it, whaling on the corpse. "Mothafuckin', disease-ridden, proxy bastard!"

Imagine how he was going to react when he found about Merle.

"Now, calm down, son," Dale urged, calmly.

"Shove it up yer ass, ol' man!" Daryl snapped, throwing up his hand.

It was that moment that Daryl took in everyone, but just barely, not really reading the entirety's weary expressions. He just snorted, no even caring that Charlotte hadn't chewed him out for taking her dog like the hotheaded woman always did; he'd take her not running her mouth any day. He shrugged, gesturing lazily to what else was slung across his shoulders; a string of furry and bloody animals. "Got us sum squirrels, tho. 'Bout twelve or so, so dat should hold us fer a bit."

At that, he just strolled on by everyone, swaggering like nothing had happened. Everyone left behind remained, giving each other silent looks. That was until they could hear Daryl shouting for Merle, their apprehension growing.

Moment of truth.

They followed the path back into camp, where all was silent, minus Daryl's calling for his brother, his confusion on the lack of response growing on his face. His brows furrowed deeply beneath dark bangs, eyes dancing about until they finally and fully assessed the looks everyone giving him, noticing the odd stillness.

"Where's mah brotha?" he finally asked aloud.

No one spoke.

Daryl repeated himself, that time more heatedly. "Where's mah brotha?"

Charlotte ultimately had gathered the courage to speak up, stepping forward, "He's….He's not here, Daryl."

"I go' dat, Ainsley!" he spat, causing Charlotte to bite her lip. "I wanna know where he is, not where he ain't!"

He took a deep, uneasy breath. "Is he…?" He didn't want to say it; that would just make it real and Merle couldn't be dead. His brother was like a cockroach.

It was Rick's turn to step forward, seeming bolder in his attempt than Charlotte's had been. "We don't know."

Eyes of lighter blue wildly adverted to calmer, yet darker blue. "Who da Hell are you?"

"Rick. Rick Grimes and…" His next words were done as delicately as possible. "Your brother may still be alive; we're not entirely sure."

"Whaddya mean ya _don' know_?"

"Merle, he…he was out of control; he was gonna get us all killed. I…had to handcuff him to a piece of metal. We left him there."

"Dat was my fault," T-Dog owned up after clearing his throat. Daryl's head snapped to him. "I had da key, but…bur I dropped it. I padlocked da door, tho, ta kep Walkers out. So, he might still be alive."

At first, Daryl was rendered speechless, fidgeting and shuffling on his booted feet. To say that he looked distraught would be a complete and utter understatement and, for one, much to her great surprise, Charlotte actually pitied—no, sympathized—with Daryl Dixon. Her heart went out to him, especially when he was finally able to speak, his voice cracking, "S-So, lemme…lemme get dis straight… Ya'll handcuff mah brotha, chained 'im ta a pipe, 'nd den…den leave 'im ta die like sum animal?

No one knew what to say and that caused Daryl to become furious; he erupted.

With a yell, the archer flung his catch of squirrels before lunging himself at Rick. Shane was far quicker, launching at Daryl to grab him from behind, swiftly putting him into a chokehold. Daryl struggled, kicking and yelling, fighting to get at Rick, who didn't seem the least bit phased at the attempted assault.

"I thought choke holds were illegal!" grunted Daryl.

"Yeah, well, take it up to the authorities." Shane quipped, dryly, never lessening his hold.

"Bastard!"

Rick moved closer to Daryl. "Now, I wanna discuss this in a calm manner."

"Fuck you!"

Shane tightened his hold, causing Daryl to gasp for air and eventually, stop struggling, buckling to the ground. Rick tried again, his voice was surprisingly gentle, yet stern, "Can we have a _calm_ discussion?"

Daryl huffed like an indignant child, but complied. Shane looked to Rick, who gave the nod, resulting in Daryl's release. Once he was free, he tore away. He grumbled and sniffled, yet tried to keep his composure, his tough exterior, as if he were like a hardheaded child, who had been scolded. The brunet wiped at his face with the back of his arm in frustration before choking, "Jus' tell me where he is, so…so I can go get 'im!"

"…He'll show you," Lori suddenly spoke from the sidelines; everyone, except Shane, Rick, and Daryl, were standing back from Daryl's line of fire. All turned to her and she appeared furious as all she saw was Rick; her anger directed at him. "Won't you."

It wasn't a question, it was an accusation.

She didn't remain for her husband's response, slamming the door of the RV behind her. She didn't stay to see that her prediction had been right for Rick did agree to showing Daryl the way. T-Dog and Charlotte volunteered to do the same, much to Daryl's surprise; he even voiced his shock, looking to them incredulously.

"Ya wouldn't even begin ta understand; ya don't speak mah language, man." was T-Dog's answer.

Charlotte's was, "…I've got a debt to pay."

And she did, whether Daryl remembered aforementioned debt or not. His deeply bemused expression, by both replies, was evident that he did not in fact remember; as long as Charlotte remembered and now had the chance to pay him back was all that mattered.

Rick seemed to appreciate the offers of assistance as he nodded at the two graciously. Then, he peered to Glenn, who instantly deciphered his look and blanched. "Oh, no, no, no. I am _not_ goin' back there," the young man protested, shaking his hatted head to emphasize how adamant he was on not returning to the city.

The police officer was just as adamant on Glenn doing the opposite, trying to sound encouraging, "I need you. You're quick on your feet. You know the city. I trust you. Please."

Glenn seemed tickled pink that someone thought he was so useful, but the idea of going back to that Walker-infested Hellhole did not appeal to him; whom would it appeal to? Rick seemed to have a power over people, though, influential in a good way, as with a single look and more encouragement, Glenn gave in.

And so a five-person group was formed in order to get back Merle.

As suspected, though, considering a man like Merle Dixon, there was quite a bit of controversy about such an expedition. Rick seemed to get the brunt of it from both his wife and his best friend, which he seemed to have expected, pleading his case with great levelheadedness, even using the promise of getting more firepower for the group; it seemed he had misplaced a bag full of guns and ammo behind in the streets of the city. Charlotte, on the other hand, had not been expecting anyone protesting her want to help rescue Merle.

While she was already preparing herself for the departure at her truck (Carl was already assigned by her to watch Dean), Carol, Sophia's mother, a soft-spoken and mousy woman with an abusive husband and short hair, came up behind the redhead. "I-I don't think you should go, Charlie. Its too dangerous." she murmured.

Blinking, Charlotte tore her blue/green orbs from retrieving Jordan's Browning A-bolt 12 gauge shotgun from the backseat to load it—he had hoped to go hunting with his father while on their visit, much to Sarah's dismay. She was taken aback by Carol's claim and by the deep concern set on the mother's face. Her voice echoed that, asking with furrowed brows, "What?"

"Don't go. What if you get bit? Your life isn't worth Merle's, Charlie. Please don't go." Carol pleaded.

"I'm not doin' it for Merle Dixon," Charlotte claimed, turning to face Carol. And she wasn't; she couldn't care less for that man, who treated her lower than dirt.

"Then why go?"

Charlotte sighed deeply, pushing curls back in frustration.

Why did Carol care? The woman barely knew her. "_Look_, its like I told Daryl, I got a debt to pay. To him. That's all I'm sayin'. Besides, Rick and the others need all the abled bodies they can get with the amount of Walkers out there." And that was all she was going to say on the matter; her reasons were her own and no one's business.

That being, taking up her gun, its shells, and her glasses, she started to turn away. Carol's meek voice called to her, "Do you…you even know how to use that?"

"More or less."

* * *

The five, Rick, Glenn, T-Dog, Daryl, and Charlotte, hit the road towards the city, Glenn driving, Rick in the passenger seat, and the other three in the back of a truck, all silent. Most were concentrating on a game plan on getting through alive while Daryl was glowering, focusing on Merle and his animosity towards everyone for leaving his brother behind; the tension was so thick that it could be cut with a knife.

Daryl was the first speak, much to the group's dismay for it worsened the tension. "Mah brotha betta be alive, all's 'm sayin' on da matta." That was pointed at T-Dog.

T-Dog rolled his eyes, which apparently wasn't the response Daryl had wanted for he continued to nitpick, that time taking a jab at Charlotte, "Think jus' havin' a gun is gonna make us think yer tough? 'Cuz those glasses sure as fuck don'."

She pursed her lips thinly and just kept her attention on loading the shotgun properly. On her face, glaring her eyes, were now indeed glasses with thick, black rims. "I'm not wearin' 'em to look tough, you dumbass; I'm wearin' 'em so I can _see_ distances clearly."

"See? Are ta blind? Shit! Sum use yer gonna be! Can even use dat thing, Four-Eyes?"

"I don't need to be an expert marksman nor have perfect eyesight to be able to kill you from this distance."

Daryl scoffed at her deadpanned threat. He had said nothing else on the matter, though, or on any other matter either and Charlotte, along with the others, was not going to complain. They'd take a tense silence over Daryl's guilt trips and harassment. Thus, the remainder of the drive was quiet.

Finally, the five arrived at their designated destination and the atmosphere between them all had changed the moment they hopped out to start towards the department store. It seemed, despite their differences and earlier rows, there had been some sort of silent agreement that surviving now within the red zone and get their tasks done together were far more important. And together, they all agreed to find Merle first before getting the guns.

So, that's what they did.

Up and up, they went, fighting through Walkers, towards the roof, sweat accumulating on their flesh and causing their clothes to cling to them like a second skin. They reached the metal door to the roof before long, where, as T-Dog said there would be, a bolt lock was placed and unbroken; Walkers must have penetrated. So, hopes of Merle's survival grew greatly; the hope in Daryl's eyes was the most apparent.

Except, it was all for naught.

Merle Dixon was gone…


End file.
